But it was the Duke who made the greatest efforts, and with the least success.  He had told himself again and again that he was bound be every sense of duty to swallow all regrets.  He had taken himself to task on this matter.  He had done so even out loud to his son.  He had declared that he would ‘let it all pass from’ him.  But who does not know how hard it is for a man in such matters to keep his word to himself?  Who has not said to himself at the very moment of his own delinquency, ’Now,—­it is now,—­at this very instant of time, that I should abate my greed, or smother my ill-humour, or abandon my hatred.  It is now, and here, that I should drive out the fiend, as I have sworn to myself that I would do.’—­ and yet has failed?

That it would be done, would be done at last, by this man was very certain.  When Silverbridge assured his sister that ’it would all come right very soon,’ he had understood his father’s character.  But it could not be completed quite at once.  Had he been required to take Isabel only to his heart, it would have been comparatively easy.  There are men, who do not seem at first sight very susceptible to feminine attractions, who nevertheless are dominated by the grace of flounces, who succumb to petticoats unconsciously, and who are half in love with every woman merely for her womanhood.  So it was with the Duke.  He had given way in regard to Isabel with less than half the effort that Frank Tregear was likely to cost him.

‘You were not at the House, sir,’ said Silverbridge when he felt that there was a pause.

‘No, not today.’  Then there was a pause again.

‘I think that we shall beat Cambridge this year to a moral,’ said Gerald, who was sitting at the round table opposite to his father.  Mr Boncassen, who was next him, asked, in irony probably rather than in ignorance, whether the victory was to be achieved by mathematical or classical proficiency.  Gerald turned and looked at him.  ’Do you mean to say that you have never heard of the University boat-races?’

‘Papa, you have disgraced yourself for ever,’ said Isabel.

’Have I, my dear?  Yes, I have heard of them.  But I thought Lord Gerald’s protestation was too great for a mere aquatic triumph.’

‘Now you are poking your fun at me,’ said Gerald.

‘Well he may,’ said the Duke sententiously.  ’We have laid ourselves very open to having fun poked at us in this matter.’

‘I think,’ said Tregear, ’that they are learning to do the same sort of thing in American Universities.’

‘Oh, indeed,’ said the Duke in a solemn, dry, funereal tone.  And then all the little life which Gerald’s remark about the boat-race had produced, was quenched at once.  The Duke was not angry with Tregear for his little word of defence,—­but he was not able to bring himself into harmony with this one guest, and was almost savage to him without meaning it.  He was continually asking himself